Fellcraft
by Luscious
Summary: Saruman enchants part of the fellowship in an attempt to stop them from reaching Merry and Pippin. Can they break the spell before all hope is lost? Movie canon, AU.
1. Default Chapter

Hello Everyone! (or anyone? crickets) Bit of a change from A Musing, (which is not done as of now, but it will be! I just had to remove this plot bunny from my brain first,) this is a bit more serious, but I can't stay serious for too long, so ye be warned!

Movie canon. Starts at the beginning of Two Towers, turns slightly AU from there, fudges a few scenes, then returns to it's original tasty self.

Also, as much as I would like to use Elvish in this story, I can barely conjugate English, so any Elvish will be simple words and phrases. Sorry language lovers.

Random explosions of 0000's are time breaks, as I can't figure out how to get the document manager to acknowledge the little stars above the 8, astericks? asteriks? Whatever. I'm computer illiterate.

As per usual, I own no one and nothing, save for a deadbeat hamster. Lord of the Rings and all it's delectable men-folk belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and damn him for thinking up the story before I had a chance to.

Only joking.

Read and Review, please. It spurs me out of laziness, and forces me to write the next chapter, if I know people actually read the story. Enjoy!

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Chapter One

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The wind had changed somehow, Legolas was sure of it. Something was wrong, he was also painfully sure of that. He had a strange rock of _wrongness_ sitting in the pit of his stomach, and no matter how he tried to explain it away, it didn't lessen the growing panic he felt.

They had been running after the hobbits for three days so far, and he shouldn't have been tiring. Elves were known for their inhuman endurance and strength; so then why had a burning started in his calves and ankles? Why was a stitch growing in his side? Why was his head feeling split down the center, while his blood rushed viciously loud in his ears?

Ever since that morning he had heard a strange noise on the wind. It sounded like the same voice he had heard on Caradhras, but there were no words, just nonsense noises and murmurs. The lack of intelligible words did nothing to ease his mind, however, for despite his long years, there were still tongues in Middle Earth he was not fluent in. Most of said unknown languages were as black as the heart of Sauron, and it felt as if ice water had been poured down his back to hear them. He had mentioned it to Aragorn almost immediately, fearing that the dark language may be from Saruman, directing the Uruk-hai to some foul task. Aragorn had advised him to continue listening as they ran, and try to understand it's intent.

He had been doing so, but it seemed as though the harder he tried to understand the words, the more the voice eluded him. He was also beginning to become overwhelmed by the pain in his head, and he slowed his run a little and fell into step with Aragorn, whose gait was slightly slower than his own. He needed to talk to the man, and it was also a convenient way to cover his sudden exhaustion.

"The voice grows bolder, I fear that it is indeed the voice of Saruman," he said to Aragorn, trying desperately to keep from sounding winded.

Aragorn cast him a strange look before replying, "Have you been able to decipher any of it?"

"Nay, the wind continues to change directions, but I am certain that it is a derivative of Black Speech," he said as black spots began to swim into his vision.

"You are certain?" he asked, but before Legolas could reply he narrowed his eyes at his elven companion, "Are you well, mellon-nin?"

Aragorn had slowed down their run considerably in order to take in the elf's appearance. His skin had gone an ashen color, save for blushes of high color on both cheeks. He looked feverish, and a sheen of perspiration glistened on his brow. What frightened him most was the strange way Legolas seemed to be struggling to breathe. Each breath he took sounded the same as some of the old men Aragorn used to drink with in Bree, and most of them had been smoking for well over 40 years. He was about to ask again when he saw a puff of dust rising in the distance, and he pointed to it. His questions would have to wait.

Legolas descended the minor incline and perched himself on a small shelf of rock.

"Legolas! What do your elf eyes see?" he heard from behind him. He struggled to focus on the figures in the distance, but his vision swam and threatened to pitch him forward. He blinked several times and made an effort to slow his heart rate. The winds shifted again, and suddenly he could hear the voice on it more clearly. He tried to ignore it and looked into the distance again, but his vision wasn't as sharp as it normally was. He could barely make out the figures, much less determine what direction they had taken.

He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath in order to call back to Aragorn and attempt to explain, but when he opened his eyes he was inexplicably I behind /i Aragorn. He recognized the unmistakable over tunic the ranger wore, along with the elven cloak from Lorien. Looking past the man, he could see the back of a blond haired elf slightly in the distance. A ludicrous suspicion began to gnaw at him as he looked at the plaits of Mirkwood that graced the elf's hair. His rational side began to desperately spout possible scenarios, each one sounding less probable than the one that preceded it.

He then watched in horror as the elf turned his head slowly, and met his eyes with a look of calculated irritation. He recognized those pale eyes; he was looking at himself.

Panic gripped his heart and he cried out softly, closing his eyes tight. He was certain that the voice on the air had somehow driven him to madness, and that thought terrified him. His concern was not only for his own safety, but for that of his companions. Would he harm them in this altered state? The part of his mind that refused to be anything other than rational couldn't help but question him. Had Saruman taken over his body? Would he use it to go after Frodo and the ring? His panic deepened, and for the first time in centuries, his exhausted mind and body felt like crying.

He cautiously opened his eyes, prepared to find a weapon and go after the imposter in his body. However, this time when he opened them, he was again on the ledge, looking into the distance. A feeling of vertigo washed over him, and he could feel a threat of fainting hiding behind an inky curtain in his mind. After a few moments it passed and he warily turned and looked behind him, expecting to see Saruman perched on the rocks behind him like one of his foul crows. Instead he saw nothing unusual at all. Aragorn was standing exactly where he was before, looking at him expectantly; Gimli was slightly behind him, doubled over in what he assumed was an attempt to catch his breath. Legolas looked back over the plains and allowed his eyes to focus in the distance, now he could see the Uruk-hai clearly, as if they were but a few feet away.

"The Uruk's turn Northeast! They're taking the hobbits to Isengard!" he called back to Aragorn, even though the effort caused the pain in his head to flare for a moment.

He heard Aragorn mutter, "Saruman," behind him, and indeed, his mind was occupied with the same word. The winds had shifted again, and thankfully the tainted voice had gone with it, but he had no doubts in it's return.

He climbed back up with his companions, carefully avoiding Aragorn's gaze. His keen eyes sought out the safest route for the three of them to get down to the plains. After a moment, he found it and ran towards it, listening closely to be sure the others were following.

His brush with insanity had shaken him, but he was relived to be feeling more like himself. The exhaustion faded out of his body like rain rolls of the surface of a leaf. He ran like his kin, feeling nothing but the breeze and a wonderful calmness radiating through him. Now that it was over, he was slightly embarrassed to tell the others. His elven pride rebelled at the idea of showing such weakness in front of his companions. They had enough cares, worrying about the hobbits. Besides, the back of his mind whispered, it was over now, and telling the others might prompt them to ask him to stay behind. He could not in good conscience abandon the hobbits to the Uruk-hai merely because he had a dizzy spell! No, he would carry on, and if the incident repeated itself, then he would bring it up to Aragorn. Maybe.

The sun was climbing the sky in the East, and it warmed their backs as they ran across the plains.

TBC


	2. Never trust an elf

Wow, this is a quick update for me! Just couldn't resist, mate!

This chapter is dedicated to Evenstar 606, in thanks for her/his enthusiastic review!

Once again, I own nothing except the story idea, and a hammie. Mad props to Tolkien. This story was actually inspired by my desktop, which has a screencap of the whole "you would die before your stroke fell" scene.

Read and review I beg of ye. Enjoy!

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Chapter 2

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"A red sun rises, blood has been spilled this night," Legolas said, more to himself than the others.

They had run through the night, and there had been no reappearance of the voice, or the strange events that had happened simultaneously. Strangely, Legolas' heart felt heavy with the thought, for he knew this was merely the calm before the storm. The air was thick with otherworldly electricity, and he wondered idly if the red sun heralded the end of the hobbits, or foreshadowed his own. He shook his head fiercely to rid himself of the thought and trudged on.

"We should stop here and rest for a short while," Aragorn called to them, raising a hand to signal the stop.

"We've no time for such pleasantries! I've not run for days on end, only to allow those foul creatures to slip from our grasp! My axe cries to cleave into Uruk flesh!" Gimli panted between laboured breaths, brandishing his axe at Aragorn menacingly.

"I agree, Master Dwarf, we must indeed move hastily. However, we will be of no use to the hobbits if we arrive to defend them in such a weakened condition," Aragorn explained in a stern, cold voice.

Legolas moved to gather the meager wood that littered the plain, smiling softly to himself at Gimli's indignant response to his 'weakened condition.' The wind had changed direction and it blew down from the North, allowing a soothing breeze to tickle the grass. He bent down and picked up two sticks that lay at his feet. When he stood, he was surprised to find Aragorn standing but a foot away.

"You startled me Aragorn," he began, but fell silent as he heard a murmur laced into the breeze. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest as he realized the voice had returned. His eyes darted around the surrounding field, looking for any signs of the dark man. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, his eyes sought out Aragorn's in desperation.

He realized the man was talking, and apparently had been for some time. Or at least, his mouth was moving, and sounds were coming out, but Aragorn wasn't forming words, at least none that Legolas could understand. He had a sudden wild impulse to unsheathe one of his long knives and slice Aragorn's head from his shoulders. If Saruman had indeed poisoned Aragorn's mind, it would be a far more peaceful end, Legolas thought.

"Legolas? _Legolas_ Are you even listening to me?" It took Legolas a few moments to realize that those words, at least, he could comprehend.

"Of course I am," he responded in a pinched voice, trying to ignore the narrow eyed look of suspicion from Aragorn. 'He knows. He knows, you've gone mad, and now he'll cleave _your_ head from your shoulders, you fool,' a familiar voice in his mind whispered oily at him. Again, he shook the violent thoughts out of his head, he did not have time for such folly.

"He asked ye if ye'd heard anymore of that wretched voice, since ye'd last mentioned it, crazy elf!" Gimli replied from the campsite a few feet away. Both elf and man looked at him incredulously.

"I did not know you were fluent in the elf tongue," Aragorn said as his head cocked to the side.

Gimli waved a hand dismissively at them. "I'm not fluent in any elf _anything_. I reckon I've picked up a word here and there from the elf is all."

Aragorn turned back to face him; he scrutinized the elf for a long while before Legolas remembered that a question had been asked.

"At times, particularly when the wind is from the North," he said without thinking. His mind was still working to understand why he hadn't been able to comprehend his own native language. Furthermore, the voice on the wind had grown, until it sounded to Legolas as if Saruman was standing directly next to him. He wanted to scream in frustration, for as loud as the voice was, it was still not comprehendible. He felt as if he was underwater, listening to the wizard screaming from shore.

A headache was building again, and he dropped the wood he held in order to pinch the bridge of his nose. As he did so, the world seemed to tilt sharply forward. He took a step forward to balance himself, and looked up to Aragorn to catch him. As before he found himself transposed.

Aragorn was standing not more than twenty feet away, but he saw only the back of his cloak and tunic. His imposter self was standing in front of the man looking dizzy, steadying himself with a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. As the dizziness apparently passed, the elf straightened and looked at Aragorn with a slight smile. He said something to the man, and gestured to the right. Aragorn walked off in that direction, and as soon as he was out of sight, the elf looked directly at Legolas with undisguised loathing.

Legolas returned the gaze, feeling both relieved that Aragorn hadn't been harmed by the dark force animating his body, and horrified that any of this could be actually be happening. Suddenly a new emotion emerged as the elf before him spoke. Rage.

"So, it's come to this, has it, ye foul beast?" he heard his own voice spout from the imposter's mouth. The elf seemed surprised to hear it at well, for he raised a slender hand to his throat in near wonder. Legolas narrowed his eyes in response, and reached for his knives, realizing belatedly that they would not be there.

It sickened him, that his creature was animating his body. It was completely unwholesome, and he felt violated. He started to run at the elf, intending full well to tear him apart with his bare hands, but he seemed to be heavier than usual. It felt as if he was wearing layers upon layers of plate armor, and after a few halted steps, he fell flat upon the ground. He looked up at the elf, his mind reeling with confusion, anger and injured pride. He could not coordinate his limbs enough to rise from the ground, but he realized smugly that the dark force was doing little better in his body.

He watched in grim fascination as the elf staggered a bit, looking as if he might crumble right to the ground. After a few moments he righted himself, but to Legolas he looked like one of those entertainers he had seen in one of the towns of men. Men who juggled knives, and appeared to be nine feet tall, but who were in fact, walking on sticks concealed by their pant legs. The elf also seemed to be having trouble seeing, for his eyes were squinted nearly closed by the light of the sun.

His own hearing and sight had diminished to the point he felt blind and deaf, and they were worsening. He felt completely out of control, and he knew at that moment that it was hopeless. The fellowship had failed, and he would never again see home, his family, or his friends again. He took a few deep breaths that sounded suspiciously like sobs, and he screamed in frustration and anger. The elf before him clapped his hands over his ears and let out a keening wail that made Legolas' hair stand on end. The elf before him then grabbed Gimli's discarded axe and strode over until he was standing ominously over Legolas.

"Enough!" the elf cried, and raised the axe high over his head.

TBC


	3. Why doesn't that surprise me?

A month since I updated? That's crazy talk! For that I humbly apologize. You see, I am, what is called an 'ass'. I was dumb enough to take on three jobs this summer which leaves little time for writing. Good news is I get bored at work a lot, so that means many many plot bunnies. I'm a carnie! Feel free to throw things at me…

Anyway, enough babble. Disclaimer from first two chapters still stands. I got nothin'.

This chunklet dedicated to:

The Balrog of Altena: Muchos gracias para su revisión entusiástica. (forgive my terrible Spanish!) Hope to hear from you this chapter too!

Evenstar606: Once again, thank you much! I'm afraid there may be a drastic measure or two in the future. :)

Empath89: Sorry about the cliffy… I just can't help it! Thanks for the review!

Friendsforever: Of course I'd like you to review again! Reviews help me tweak the story. Also, I agree, Gimli gets a bad rap in a lot of stories. Trust me… in this tale there will be plenty of concern for his elven buddy. Thanks!

Justme: What can I say? I :heart: you.

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Chapter 3

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Legolas stared up defiantly at the elf before him. Ending his scream, he took a deep breath and prepared himself for the blow. He would die with as much dignity as he could muster. He was an elf, and he refused to die screaming in fear and anger.

His mind struggled to remember the proper last rite prayer to the Valar, to ensure his place in the Hall of Mandos. He nearly wept to find he couldn't clear his mind enough to remember even one word of the language he had known for thousands of years. _What is happening to me?_

The warm morning sunlight glinted off the blade of the axe, while the elf before him struggled to control it. Legolas allowed himself a smug moment, realizing that his body would not have the muscle memory for dealing with such a hefty weapon. He used the imposter's difficulty to his advantage and made another attempt to stand.

He felt awkward. His arms felt far too heavy and stunted to be of any use in getting to his feet. He had managed to get up to his knees by the time the imposter got control of the axe.

It fell towards him, almost in slow motion, and he closed his eyes in acceptance. He heard the almost wet sound of metal on metal, and he wondered idly if he had already left this new body and was hearing his death from a distance. He waited a moment and cautiously opened his eyes.

Aragorn stood to his left, his blade outstretched into the path of the axe. His face was contorted slightly with the effort of holding the imposter's axe at bay.

"Mellon-nin! Have you lost your senses! It matters not how much you dislike each other, this is madness!" he cried, looking at the imposter with a mixture of anger and confusion.

Legolas hung his head in relief, although a little irritated that he couldn't remember what 'mellon-nin' meant. Belatedly he noticed for the first time his state of dress. He squinted his eyes in an attempt to see with his new dimmed eyesight. He now understood why he had trouble getting to his feet. He was covered from head to toe in chainmail and leathers. He held his hands out in shock. Each hand was encased in a heavy leather glove that had no doubt seen many years of wear. In growing alarm, he brought his hands to his face. Instead of the delicate elvish face he was used to he encountered rough, weather beaten skin and a full, thick beard that had been braided into wide plaits. Sliding his hands up further he realized he was wearing a helm, and that's when his world fell apart.

"Have ye lost _yer_ senses, Aragorn! Can ye not see this is the work of the White Wizard!" the imposter cried, gesturing with his head at Legolas, and still trying to force his axe past Aragorn's defense.

Legolas finally raised his eyes wearily to the miniature battle before him. "Gimli?" he asked the imposter slowly. As he spoke he realized if they hadn't been so panicked, they would have realized whose voices they were speaking with. His voice made him wince, it was low and gravelly and barring the accent, it was unmistakably Gimli's.

"Do not try ye're fellcraft on _me_, ye reckless spirit!" the imposter, or rather Gimli, yelled. He redoubled his efforts in the battle of wills with Aragorn.

"Gimli, stop… It's me," Legolas said, finally getting to his feet, feeling far too short and heavy for his tastes. After a few moments it became clear that Gimli had no intension of stopping the struggle, or listening to him.

"By the Valar, Dwarves really are the most infuriating of all races! Stop for a moment and look at yourself, you stubborn fool!" Legolas snapped at him.

Both Aragorn and Gimli stopped at these words and turned to look at him. A small smile graced Gimli's face and he took a step back. Aragorn, for his part looked relieved that the immediate threat was over, but he didn't lower his blade.

"Durin's Beard! It _is_ you! Not even Saruman himself could counterfeit such distain for Dwarves, or for me," Gimli said in relief, thoroughly amused. He followed Legolas's instruction, and took in his appearance. His mirth faded and his face scrunched up in distaste, but he said no more. He dropped the axe and sat heavily on the ground in shock.

Aragorn looked from one to the other, as if waiting for a repeat of the attempted assassination. He finally looked down to the elf at his feet, "Legolas?"

Gimli merely shook his head and gestured with a delicate hand to Legolas. Aragorn turned to the now standing Dwarf, and tried again, "Legolas?"

"Yes, Aragorn?" he replied off handedly while curiously looking over the walking axe held in his belt.

Aragorn took a deep breath, and when he spoke again it was guarded as if he expected all the happenings to be a simple nightmare he would wake up from momentarily. "What has happened?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm certain it is a result of the voice from the North," he answered, meeting Aragorn's eyes.

Whatever Aragorn saw in those eyes, put his mind to rest, for he nodded slightly and re-sheathed his sword. "Are you both well despite this… condition?" he asked.

Before either of them could reply, Gimli held up a hand to silence them, staring intently on the ground in front of him. "I hear something. A rolling, heavy sound, like thunder."

Legolas looked up at the cloudless sky above them and listened, desperate to have is old hearing back. "I can't hear anything with these half deaf dwarvish ears!"

"Those ears belong to the Son of Gloín, and ye'll mind yer tongue…" the insult trailed off as he was suddenly listening intently again. "It's louder now, and I feel something strange, as if the very air is shaking. I also have a feeling of battle readiness and a need to… uh… well… run… overwhelming me," he said sounding confused.

Legolas, however, understood these feelings perfectly. He turned to Aragorn, "Riders. Gimli is sensing the men and their horses. We should take cover until we are sure of their intent." Aragorn nodded in agreement and jogged over to a nearby rock outcropping. After a moment he looked back and motioned for the other two to join him.

It took Gimli a moment to stand and regain his footing, with as much help as Legolas could give even though he wasn't very stable on his feet either. "Ach! How do ye elves walk on these twigs for legs!" Legolas narrowed his eyes in response.

Together they made it over to the outcropping and huddled in the protection it gave.

TBC…

Sorry for the short chapter… next one will be longer…. I promise. (eeek! Not the 'p' word!)

Next chappie, the appearance of Eomer! Oh, isn't he a hottie? As always, please please please review! Review and you'll get kisses from Eomer! How can you pass that up!


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